


Why John Watson Hates Valentine's Day in Particular

by brokenlibrarygirl



Series: I HATE Valentine's Day [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: I Hate Valentine's Day, M/M, POV John Watson, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlibrarygirl/pseuds/brokenlibrarygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson hates Valentine's Day almost as much as Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why John Watson Hates Valentine's Day in Particular

John Watson fucking hates Valentine’s Day. It is an uncompromising fact. The second that New Year’s Eve ends his muscles begin to tense, his mood turns dark, and he becomes an utter prick to everyone around him until the 15th of February.

The ferocious hatred of the holiday began during his first year of university, his first serious girlfriend. She had written in the snow, mentioned in closing of emails, I Love You. He was shocked at first, but when he took the time to think about it, he realized that he loved her too, why not tell her on Valentine’s Day. When he confessed the same in a lengthy and thoughtful letter all those years ago, she was surprisingly stunned and begged him to give her time to respond. So being the good boyfriend he thought he was, he gave her time and space. Several days later when he saw her across a courtyard, she waved him close then pulled him into a dark corner. There she told him that she wasn’t ready for that level of commitment, and that she was in fact cheating on him. She had felt that she loved him in those stupid simple moments. It made no sense, and John emotionally died that day. On that day John decided he would never tell anyone that he loved him or her unless the other said it first. He also did everything in his power to avoid celebrating it if he had a partner. Several of his relationships had even ended because John’s avoidance of Valentine’s Day.

Fast forward sixteen years and he was a limping former army doctor in need of a flatmate. When he ran into Mike in the park he was at once elated and regretful at once. He wanted someone who knew him before to be his friend, but the fact he was in need of a roommate at his age and limping, he could barely make it through the coffee without wanting to flee to the dark cave of his bedsit. He felt better moving around instead of sitting and when Mike had brought him into the innocuous lab and he took in the form of Sherlock Holmes he was rendered breathless. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t dropped his phone as he handed it over. John had cringed at the thought that he could have at least shaved more closely that morning.

Afghanistan or Iraq? 

Those three words were all it took to know that this man would be the beginning or the end of him. One he would gladly accept.

There it was, he was swept into the world of Sherlock Holmes. Killer cabbies, million pound hairpins, and psychotic bombers. He agreed to die with Sherlock in that dank swimming pool, he had nothing to lose, nothing to hold him there other than Sherlock and an alcoholic sister who hated him. 

When they were dismissed so suddenly by the weasily Irishman John could barely stand, Sherlock helped him up, held him close as they made their way to the road and a cab and finally 221b Baker Street. They sat in silence sharing strong liquor extricated from a hidden nook. As they finished John stood and patted Sherlock on the arm.

“Goodnight Sherock. Thank you,” he paused and blinked backs the tears that suddenly formed in his eyes, the stress had become too much for him, “for everything.”

Sherlock stares at John. No acknowledgment of what it took for John to say those words, to physically admit that he was so undone by what the other man would have done for him. 

“Good night, John.” He had said standing and giving John his own awkward pat.

That was as much physical affection as John would get over the next year. John wasn’t The Woman, he wasn’t the work, he was merely Sherlock’s friend, he wasn’t worth Sherlock’s attraction. Sherlock then made John watch and listen as he threw himself off of that roof. The tears John heard over the phone was what John believed Sherlock’s only true confession of how much he had valued John. The only person he would tell the truth to. It broke John’s heart more than that silly girl he couldn’t remember the name of that ruined Valentine’s Eay.

He had to see his fired therapist again.

He had to stay with his sister again.

He had to go back to a bedsit.

He found a new job. He met simple blonde woman. He fell in love.

He grew a moustache because he was bored. He gained weight not running after a consulting detective, he stopped going with Greg or Mike to the pub. He was a new John Watson, free of back story, congeniality winner, boring, stupid, and clawing to get his life back together. 

When he had decided to propose, he bought a modestly priced ring, made reservations, tailored a suit, and wrote out a speech. When Mary had gone to the loo he ordered any sort of carbonated wine beverage that he thought might impress her, not paying any attention to the French accented waiter.

When Sherlock revealed himself John slammed his fist, gripped his friend’s throat, head butted his friend’s face, bloodied his nose. He thought that he was done with him.

Mary who was kind, safe, joking, and subtly convinced him to forgive Sherlock. Getting kidnapped and shoved into a Fawkes bonfire and being rescued by the unrequited love of your life does a lot in the way of forgiveness. 

Awkward was the simplest way to describe how John and Sherlock revolved around each other after the confessions on the train, the cruel manipulation Sherlock felt the need to put in play. Yes they had laughed about it, but it still hurt.

November bled into December and January. Cases on the weekends, lunches at Speedys, and John and Sherlock found their friendship again. John loved Mary but he loved Sherlock more. There was nothing that could erase or remove those feelings. It did not help that Sherlock had been staring at him, touching John when it wasn’t absolutely necessary, apologizing to John when he realized he had done something wrong, and being overly kind to Mary. Maybe it was time to find out if there was something there. He bought the card the day after Sherlock’s birthday, on a whim, in a moment of weakness after their shared bottle of wine, after a case. 

Outside: _To the one who loves me even though I don’t deserve it . . ._  
Inside: _Thank you. Happy Valentine’s Day_

He sent it as close to the holiday as he could in the most cowardly way, unsigned. Sherlock would know the second he saw his address scrawled on the front. He immediately regretted it, the fear that Sherlock would want nothing to do with him anymore. He hated himself, he hated that he loved two people.

When the dreaded day arrived he made his way through his purposely scheduled busy day. His afternoon filled with noisy pings of messages and texts that he ignored until before a romantic dinner with Mary. They were from Greg and Mycroft, concerned at the no contact from Sherlock. He wasn’t the man’s bloody keeper, he had a fiance and it was Valentine’s Day. He went home, they went out, he gave her a gift, he made love to her. When he couldn’t sleep afterwards he looked at his phone, more messages, more concern. Mary would understand.

Sherlock Holmes was slurry drunk. He had never seen him like this, ever. He realizes with horror that he must have received the card. So drunk he had said that he didn’t love him. The slurring words, the cruel jests. It hurt so much more than John could possibly predict.

The dismissal the morning after to go check in with Mary, made him furious with Sherlock. If he hadn’t made him watch him jump off of that roof, if he had told him that he would be away for so long, or had asked him help with what he had to do, he would have been happy with just continuing as they were.

But, now with Mary and his complex feelings about her and Sherlock, he resigned himself to being Sherlock’s friend only. He could only be the friend that John loved in secret who didn’t love him back.

 _ping_ John’s eyes widen at the message he receives just as he hits at the stairs for the underground.

_You deserve it John. SH_

**Author's Note:**

> May continue this next year with Mary Morstan aka A.G.R.A, depends on what happens with the next season.


End file.
